Five Times Neal was Sick (and slept on the Burkes' couch)
by calis-1st
Summary: A series of fics in response to a prompt over at Live Journal Fever fest 2. Only the couch and the characters are consistent throughout.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Five Times Neal was Sick (and slept on the Burkes' couch)  
**Author**: calis_1st  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count**: ~ 6900 total  
**Spoilers**: At the top each story that has them

**Summary:** Just like the title says.  
**Disclaimer:** Jeff Eastin rocks.

**Note:** This was originally published at Live Journal in response to a prompt at Fever Fest 2, so if it looks familiar, that'd be the reason.

_Part 1 _- _in which Neal learns that germs can really gang up on a guy_  
(contains references to Free Fall)

***  
In retrospect, maybe he shouldn't have chosen that particular escape route from the van after jumping from the judge's chambers. Between spending those few days in prison filled with individuals who were less than conscientious about personal hygiene and basic sanitation, followed by a dash through the storm drains that had varying levels of fetid water, Neal (of course) ended up with a minor (according to Peter) upper respiratory infection. Neal might have been inclined to agree with the "minor" assessment if he didn't feel like crap and could just go home and crawl into bed, after a glass or two of an excellent merlot he had been saving. But, his plans for recuperation and self-medication put on temporary hold by Peter (who was perhaps feeling just a little bit guilty), Neal found himself invited for a dinner he wasn't sure he could swallow, between the blossoming sore throat and the rapidly expanding ick in his sinuses. He thought he'd avoid a "cowboy up" if he could just con his way into appearing to be in fine health.

The trip to Brooklyn was quiet. Neal's "I don't have a care in the world" attitude would have been more believable if dark circles weren't forming beneath his eyes and he didn't sound like a congested five-year-old. By the time they got to the Burkes' he was starting to shiver. Not full-out teeth-chattering shivers, but the occasional total body shudder.

"Neal, it's so nice to see you at the FRONT door again," Elizabeth said with a smile as she met them in the foyer. His smile back was genuine, if lacking its usual brilliance. "You've had a rough few days, haven't you" she said, taking his arm and leading him to the couch. "Dinner won't be ready for another half hour. Peter, why don't you get Neal something to drink."

"Neal?" Peter asked.

"Just water, please."

"You really don't feel well, do you."

"You're basing that on my beverage choice?" Neal asked, trying for nonchalance.

"More on - " Peter waved his hand in Neal's general direction " - you. I'm sorry, Neal. Would you rather go home?"

Neal considered taking a cab back to June's but was too wiped out to deal with it right now. "No, I don't want to drag you back to Manhattan this time of day. If you don't mind, I'll just sit here for a while." He tried to cough discretely.

"Stretch out, I'll wake you when dinner's ready."

It was dark when Neal woke up, and the house was too quiet. He came to the slow realization that his head hurt less than before, his throat wasn't nearly as raw and scratchy, he was no longer cold and he could breathe again. And that he was under a blanket and wearing something he'd never actually seen before. He had vague memories of Peter helping him change into a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt, and someone giving him some foul tasting green liquid and spraying something red and strange smelling in the back of his throat. Part of him wanted to sink back into sleep but a larger part was suddenly hungry. He pulled himself up, feeling steadier than he had when he first arrived with Peter.

"Hungry?" asked a voice in the darkness.

"Wow, that's - a little creepy," Neal replied, not specifying if he meant Peter's ability to read his mind, or just his presence in the room. "Are you watching me sleep?"

Peter chuckled. "No, I just came down a minute ago. You were tossing around, and I wanted to see if you were okay."

"Actually, I am feeling better. And yes, I'm a little hungry. I'm sorry I missed dinner."

"El saved you a dish. Come on in the kitchen, I'll heat it up for you."

"Peter - "

"No 'Peter' for you. If you think you can handle lasagna, it'll be hot in a few minutes. Otherwise, we've got soup."

They sat in the kitchen and split the rather large plate of lasagna El had put aside. Neal glanced up and saw Peter watching him.

"Something wrong?"

"Neal, I know how difficult this last week has been for you, and I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first." Peter wanted to continue but didn't know what else to say that wouldn't sound false or patronizing. Neal's head dropped when he remembered Peter's words to him in prison - "you let me down, Neal" - and almost missed Peter's heartfelt apology. "I truly am sorry, for Fowler, and for prison, but mostly for not believing you."

Neal, still looking down, just nodded. He wasn't sure if he could trust himself enough to not show Peter the hurt that memory still held for him.

"Do you mind if I just crash a little longer?" he asked.

"Of course not," Peter replied. "Oh, wait, since you're up, how about another shot of cold medicine and throat stuff? It seems to have done you some good."

Neal considered. As much as he hated feeling drugged, even with over-the-counter stuff, it was preferable to going back to the way he felt earlier. And maybe the memories of the last week were finally easing up along with his physical aches.

"Sounds good, Peter."


	2. Chapter 2

_Part 2: In which Neal learns that oxygen is his friend_

(contains references to Hard Sell)

*****

Neal didn't want to tell Peter the truth - well, not the whole truth - about his headache. It would just make Peter feel badly, and he was already wearing his unhappy face from having had to tell Neal that he had met with Kate, and he wasn't impressed with her sincerity. The brief oxygen deprivation, although certainly not likely to cause any real, long-term effects, was wreaking havoc on his head right now.

The ride back to June's brought them within a couple of blocks of Peter's house, so for the second time in less than two weeks Neal found himself on the Burkes' couch.

"Peter, really, a couple of aspirin and a nap in my own bed, I'll be fine. You don't need to keep an eye on me."

"Humor me. You were unconscious for about half a minute, Neal. I'll be much more comfortable if you stay here until you're feeling better."

"I'm good, Peter."

"Funny, I don't believe you, since you're still only a shade darker than Casper. Now, do you want to lie down upstairs in the guest room or down here?"

"Couch is fine," Neal grumbled. He swallowed the aspirin Peter brought him and drank the glass of water more quickly than he had intended, but when he laid down the room started to spin. He pulled himself upright.

"I thought you were planning on a nap."

"Mmm," Neal replied with his eyes closed.

"Mmm? As in, yes, you were, or yes, you just woke up all refreshed?"

"The former."

"And yet you're still sitting up." Peter's voice softened. " Are you dizzy?"

Neal took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "A little bit, when I laid down."

Peter just nodded and left the room. When he returned a couple of minutes later he had four pillows and a blanket.

"Here," he said, propping the pillows up against one end of the couch. "See if you can lean into these and still feel okay." The arrangement let Neal recline halfway between sitting and laying flat; it was just about as far as he could go and not get dizzy.

"This is good, Peter. Thank you."

Peter dropped the blanket over Neal, squeezed his shoulder and went into the kitchen to call Jones. By the time he was caught up on the follow-up at Avery's place it was dark, and he realized he hadn't done one of his quarter-hour checks on Neal for over an hour. Neal was still sleeping, looking so young and without artifice. _I trust you, _he had said earlier, handing the breather to Peter. Then, in the airless room, he found the kill switch and passed out.

They'd been here for more than two hours. Peter grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and an apple from the bowl on the table and walked to the living room. Neal was unexpectedly sitting up with his elbows on his knees, palms pressed into his eyes exactly as he had done on the steps of Avery's house. But this time, when Neal looked up, his coloring was normal and his smile was genuine.

"Hey, Peter."

"You're looking like yourself again," Peter said, handing him the bottle and the fruit. "Feeling better?"

"Much," he said, taking a bite of the apple. "Headache's gone, and the room's not moving anymore, either."

Peter smiled, but then frowned. "Neal, about what I said earlier."

"Not now, Peter. I just - tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, if that's what you want. Wanna stay for dinner?"

"Nah, I'm just going to head home."

"I'll give you a lift."

"Stay here, it's late. Elizabeth should be home soon."

"You sure?"

"I am. Thanks for everything, Peter," and with that Neal picked up his jacket and left. He walked to the corner to hail a cab. When he was out of sight of the Burkes' he pulled out his cell phone.

"Moz? Meet me at my place in half an hour. We've got to talk."


	3. Chapter 3

Part three: _In which Neal learns that all salt waters are not created equal_

_**Caution** for temporary eye issues_

* * *

He leaned against her more than he meant to, but when he tried to stand up straighter and under his own power he got woozy again.

"It's okay, Neal, we're almost there," Elizabeth said, gripping his arm that was draped over her shoulder.

"Feel so useless," he said, his voice rough.

She slowly steered him to the couch, leaving him on his own long enough to push the coffee table aside before gently nudging him so the backs of his knees were touching the cushion. He bent awkwardly to touch the couch before he sat down. It hurt her to watch the man who had spent so much time over the years in their home, in their living room, on their couch, struggle to make certain he was in the right place. The bandages over his eyes meant he couldn't see (it was a temporary condition, they had been assured). The meds he'd been given at the hospital meant he was somewhat uncoordinated (also only temporary).

After he was finally sitting she stood in front of him, put her hands on his shoulders and asked if he needed anything.

"A do-over on today, if you could manage it," he sighed.

"Aww, sweetie." He heard the sympathy in her voice. "If I could, I would. It's almost time for your treatment, do you think you might want something for pain first?"

"Elizabeth, you really don't have to do this. Mozzie would probably make some noise, but I'm sure he can handle things until I can manage it myself."

"I actually don't mind. We had to put cream on one of Satchmo's eyes when he was a pup and got into a skirmish with some raspberry bushes. I'm going to assume you won't try to bite or scratch me."

He smiled crookedly. "Maybe try to run away, though."

She sat down next to him.

"So, what happened? Peter didn't get into specifics and he had to leave before I got to the hospital."

"We were interviewing a witness who knew a little more about the extortion procedures than a witness should know. When he realized he'd said too much he took off into one of the city's maintenance garages. Peter and I split up to find him, next thing I knew I was getting sprayed in the face with salt water."

She made a sympathetic sound. "That sounds painful. What'd they say at the hospital?"

"Honestly, Elizabeth, I'm not even sure, it hurt so much. Peter was there with me, they talked to him. I just know it should get better in a few days."

"Oh, I have your discharge instructions in my purse. I can read them to you, if you like."

"Maybe later, just - does it say anything about tearing? I feel like they're watering like mad."

She glanced through several pages of notes. "Here it is," she said, "yes, that's normal and apparently a good sign that there's no damage to your tear ducts." She paused. "You look tired. How about we do this and then you can get some rest."

He nodded. While she organized the supplies she needed and washed her hands he peeled the tape and gauze from his eyes.

She sucked in a breath when she saw them for the first time, and she almost regretted her offer to bring him here instead of to his home to deal with Mozzie's tender ministrations. Or June's, more likely.

"W - wow, that looks - wow." All of the skin around his eyes, but especially his eyelids, was bright red and terribly swollen, and his eyelashes looked as if they were glued together with a heavy gummy discharge. She helped him to lay down on the couch, his head on a large, thick towel.

"You don't have to do this, really. Call Moz for me, please?" he pleaded.

"I have this, Neal, I just wasn't expecting - I don't know what I was expecting. I'm going to clean the outside first," she said, putting a wet washcloth over his eyes. "Let me know if the water's too hot." Following the hospital's instructions took her about five minutes to gently clean the outside of his eyes. It took considerably longer to apply the drops and cream and to re-bandage Neal's eyes, although a lot of the time was spent in just trying to keep his eyes open long enough for Elizabeth to put apply the prescriptions. Even the dim light she needed caused shooting pains in his eyes.

Peter arrived home just as Neal swallowed a pain pill.

"Hey, Neal, how are you feeling?" Peter asked.

"Pretty awful," he murmured.

"Did you eat something? You shouldn't take those on an empty stomach."

"Elizabeth took very good care of me," Neal replied. His whole posture screamed "misery" to anyone who saw him - shoulders hunched, head down, arms crossed on his knees. He was still wearing his suit pants but his shirt and jacket were replaced by surgical scrubs at the ER, and Elizabeth had given him one of Peter's flannel shirts to wear over it. The incongruity of Neal's attire would have made Pete smile if it wasn't for the reason behind it.

"I'm gonna sit next to you," he said. Neal nodded.

"Elizabeth told me how painful your treatment was. I stopped by the hospital, they gave me something that should help with the light sensitivity."

"Thanks," Neal said so softly Peter would have missed it if he was any further away.

They sat like that for a few minutes until Peter realized Neal's hitched breathing might be from crying.

"Neal, are you in a lot of pain?" Peter asked as he put his arm around his partner's shoulders.

Neal shook his head with small movements.

"What if - "

He couldn't finish that thought out loud.

"You'll be fine, Neal, it'll just take a while. Your corneas got pretty badly scratched but they'll heal. The docs said the swelling and the irritation should diminish enough in a few days, a week at most, so that you can switch over to sunglasses, and once the scratches heal your vision will be as good as it was yesterday. Right now they're more worried about infection."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, it should all be in your paperwork. Look, you must be exhausted, do you want to crash upstairs until your next treatment, or dinner? I'm not sure what El's got on the schedule."

"It's too quiet upstairs, Peter. I'd rather stay here, if I won't be in the way."

Elizabeth brought in a blanket and some pillows while Peter helped Neal get oriented on the couch.

"I'm going to let Satchmo in, are you okay with that?"

"That'd be fine, Peter."

Once Satchmo checked out the displacement of the coffee table and found Neal's dangling hand for some behind-the-ears-rubs, both Satch and Neal dozed while El and Peter talked quietly in the kitchen.

"How you holding up, El?" Peter asked her with his arms around her waist.

"Did you see him? Of course you did. All that from salt water?"

Peter frowned. "Is that what he told you?" She nodded. "I guess 'salt water' is one way to describe it. It was the brine solution the city uses to spray on the streets before it snows. The guy we were after used the hose on the truck, hit him with it right in the face. They were still mixing it and there were a lot of crystals that hadn't dissolved yet. He's actually pretty lucky it wasn't worse than it is."

"Did he know that's what it was?"

Peter nodded. "Oh, yeah, he knew. A couple of the city workers got him to an eye wash right away, they had it going and were talking to him the whole time while we waited for the EMTs." He paused. "He was afraid, El. He didn't say anything, but I'm pretty sure - ." He left off, remembering how Neal clung to him even with Peter holding him to guide him to the waiting ambulance, whispering _please please please _over and over.

"He's an artist, honey, loss of vision would be devastating. Not to mention the isolation he'd feel."

"I wonder if he was afraid that he'd get sent back to prison. A year and a half in prison again after working with us for all this time, and being - " he could barely get the word out himself, "blind - that would be terrifying."

"That couldn't happen, could it?"

"I'd take him to Cape Verde myself."

Peter hated to wake Neal up, but he needed another treatment before Peter went to bed shortly before midnight. Maybe because it was just generally darker, maybe it was the new pain relief, or maybe Neal just hurt less overall, but this time was a lot easier. With Peter's help locating everything, he was able to clean up the gunk and put in the drops himself. He didn't want to admit his squeamishness, but he even managed to apply the cream in his left eye, after Peter did the right.

"What do you say, ready to head upstairs?"

"I'd like to use the bathroom, but I'd rather sleep down here. My luck I'd probably fall down the steps."

Downstairs again, with Neal back on the couch, Peter slid Neal's cell phone under the cushion where it was least likely to get stepped on or accidentally moved. "Call me if you need anything," he said.

"Peter, do you think you can drop me off at June's tomorrow before work?"

Peter tipped his head.

"You're not a problem, Neal. I already talked to Hughes, I can work from home the next couple of days."

"I appreciate that, Peter, and I am grateful, to you and Elizabeth. It would be easier, for me, where I know where everything is."

"You know this is only temporary, right? It's just the infection concern - "

"I know it is, Peter, and believe me I'm in a far better place now than I was earlier. I talked to Moz, he's gonna come by, oversee things and all."

"Mozzie?"

"Who's a bigger germaphobe? He'll be fine. I'll be fine." For the first time since that morning Peter saw a genuine smile on his friend's face.

"Yeah, I'm sure you will be," he said, actually agreeing with Neal's assessment. "How about after breakfast I'll bring you to June's, we'll get everything lined up for you, and I'll just stay until Mozzie gets there?"

As much as Neal wanted time for private reflection at June's, the chance to work through his own anxieties in his own home, he appreciated Peter's need to watch out for him. It was comforting in a way he hadn't expected. And since he was pretty sure that after a couple of days of being alone and in the dark he'd be pleading for someone to read him mortgage fraud files, the last thing he wanted to do was push Peter away. He nodded.

"That'd be perfect. Good night, Peter."

"Good night, Neal."


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4: _in which Diana follows through on a promise in the worst possible way - by accident  
_

* * *

Diana might have been serious at first, when she threatened to break one or both of Neal's arms if he tried to pull something over on her. Quite serious in fact, at first, and for a while. But the longer they worked together and the more she learned about him (and he about her), the better she understood him and liked him and trusted him. He could still be a pain in her ass, but she was absolutely certain he occasionally behaved that way just to yank her chain. It had become a team rallying cry by now.

So when she actually DID break his arm it was hard to know which one of them was more stunned. In Neal's defense, he hadn't done anything wrong, in fact, he had just defused a very ugly and potentially lethal confrontation into something far more peaceful during the last few minutes of his present undercover assignment. In Diana's defense, she had no idea that Neal had changed the situation from dangerous to safe, because his transmitter had been smashed shortly before. It was, regrettably, a matter of both of them being in the wrong place at the exact wrong moment, when she used the battering ram to force the door open into the room just as he reached for the knob from the other side. All parties involved were just thankful she hadn't opted to shoot off the lock.

Diana wanted to drive Neal to the hospital but, between her driving and Peter's, Neal almost begged Jones to take him. The crime scene was large and the list of charges growing, and they really needed all available agents. Neal convinced Peter that, _A_, he did not need an ambulance, and, _B_, he was perfectly capable of taking a cab to the hospital. He tried to look just pitiful enough that Peter would forget he was off-anklet, but not so pitiful that Peter would feel the need for formal medical transport. The adrenaline rush from the operation carried over long enough to get Neal through the initial pain radiating from his wrist to his shoulder, but that was fading and Neal no longer had to fake "pitiful." In fact, between the stress from the earlier negotiations and the pain from the metal door slamming into his outstretched hand, he was starting to look as wrecked as his transmitter.

That settled the matter for Peter. His very capable team could handle the crime scene. Jones was tasked with keeping a guilt-ridden Diana from sneaking out to check on Neal, and Peter would take Neal to the hospital himself, as was his responsibility as a supervisor, a handler, a partner and a friend.

There are three bones in the human arm: the humerus in the upper arm, and the ulna and radius in the forearm. There are eight more bones in the wrist, laid out in two rows of four, five in the palm, and fourteen in the fingers and thumb. Neal was pretty sure every one of them was forcefully shoved into at least two others when the door slammed open. The ER docs were inclined to agree, after x-rays and a CT scan found not only a messy fracture in the humerus, but both sprains and strains in his wrist and elbow. Muscle relaxants and a sedative allowed them to manipulate the break into place without surgery; everything else was going to have to heal on its own.

They brought Peter into Neal's curtained cubicle when they were about ready to release him. Neal was glassy eyed and looking more than a little off as he stared at the television that was not turned on.

"Mr. Caffrey," asked Dr. McElroy, according to his badge, "is it okay if I talk to Agent Burke about your arm?"

"Yeah, someone should, 'cause Peter worries a lot."

"Neal," said Peter, trying for the proper amount of gravitas for the situation, "I'm right here."

"Peter!" Neal sounded surprised and delighted. "Hey, Buddy."

Peter put his hand on Neal's good shoulder and smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Like this really, really hurts, and I'm gonna regret it later."

"Your friend has a pretty high tolerance for pain, but he really shouldn't wait until he gets to that point to take something," said Dr. McElroy. "I'll have a couple of 'scripts with his discharge paperwork, he needs to keep ice on his wrist for the swelling, keep the whole arm elevated as much as possible, keep the cast dry. He said he lives alone, but I'm not comfortable with him being by himself for the next few hours. I can keep him here for a while, if necessary, but if we need the bed, then I'm - ."

"No, if he's alright to be released he can stay with my wife and me overnight."

"Peter, don't feel too good," Neal said, swallowing hard.

Peter took a quick look around the room but the doctor was quicker and got a plastic pan under Neal's chin just as he began vomiting.

"High tolerance for pain, not so much for the muscle relaxant. I'll give him a shot now and prescribe something for the nausea before you leave."

"Uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh..."

"It's alive," said a nearby voice.

"If this is what Frankenstein's creature felt like, no wonder he was so crabby," Neal grumbled, trying to open one eye far enough to figure out what he was laying on. It reminded him a lot of the Burkes' couch.

"I'm sorry," said the voice, now clearly Peter's. "You want to try sitting up? You in pain? I can give you something in about a half hour, if you need it. No, Satchmo, leave Neal alone."

Good, he was right about the couch. He wasn't sure why he had been sleeping on Peter's couch, but he figured it would come to him eventually. Either that, or Peter would tell him if he had done something incredibly stupid that resulted in him being here.

"No pills, they just make me - wait, did I throw up earlier?"

"Yup, you sure did."

"Uhh," Neal said, sounding somewhat appalled.

"It's okay, the doc gave you something for nausea, too. Said you should take that first, have something to eat, then take the stuff for pain."

Neal did manage to get both eyes open, at least partially.

"Why am I - oh, right. My arm. Diana and the door. Please tell me she's not blaming herself for this."

"I would, but I'd be lying. She feels really badly. She thinks she could have announced herself better."

"Not her fault. It was a steel-reinforced door. Things were pretty tense when they smashed my watch, she was trying to keep me alive. At least, I hope so."

"I told her that, but maybe it would be better coming from you. She'd like to stop by later."

"Am I gonna be here later? I think I can manage at home, once I clear my head."

"Take your pills, have some food, keep it down, and we'll see how it goes. El's bringing home some of that fresh bread you like, and Jones said something about bringing some really good soup."

"Jones cooks?" Neal sounded surprised.

"I'm not sure, he just said he has a source."

Neal managed to sit up, and Peter got his casted arm situated on the back of the couch just as Elizabeth, Jones and Diana arrived. Neal wondered how their timing worked out so conveniently but was still a bit too foggy to worry about it. As expected, Jones brought soup to go Elizabeth's bread. Diana surprised them all with Italian ice - "the real stuff from Little Italy, not from one of those chains," she noted.

"Wow, I haven't had this since I was a little kid. How'd you know?" Neal asked with a smile as he peered into the bag.

"You might have mentioned it in the van one night," she said, blushing. "Neal, I - "

"I'm kind of hungry. I think I left lunch - let's just say it's been a while since I ate. Could we?"

Peter gave Neal the first pill with a bottle of water while Jones and Diana got plates and bowls and Elizabeth sliced the bread and brought utensils. They had a pleasant meal sitting in the Burkes' living room, talking about everything but the day's case. Finally, most of dinner consumed, Neal and Peter exchanged glances, Neal nodded, and Peter slipped him a pain pill over the coffee table.

"Alright, Caffrey, I have to get this out."

"Diana, stop. You were just watching out for me, right? Accidents happen, right?"

She nodded.

"And you swear you won't do it again, right?"

She grinned. "Well, you do have one free pass now."

"Good," he replied. "Then you can make it up to me by scooping me a dish of the lemon ice right now, because I think I'm probably gonna pass out in about twenty minutes. And then tomorrow you can give me a ride back home, if you promise drive green and not to kill the tree in your car. Deal?"

"Deal."


	5. Chapter 5

_Part 5, in which Neal learns something about the nature of forgiveness_

**Spoilers:** Takes place post 4.16, so includes spoilers for most of the season in general and "In the Wind" in particular.

* * *

Peter was home - no, more than home, better than home. Peter was exonerated in the killing of Senator Pratt, and Pratt was shown to be the crooked ex-cop, dirty politician, and murderer that he truly was. Mozzie and Neal found James, Diana and Jones brought him in. James bitterly blamed Neal for his capture. Neal hoped to never see or hear from James again. Or hear his name.

For the first time in a long time Neal had no one to look for, no past to hide from, no dreams to run to. He still had almost two years left on his sentence. He hoped they could be productive years working with Peter and the Harvard Crew, without the distractions of Kate, of the music box, the treasure, commutation, of being on the run and away from the life he so badly wanted, of searching for Ellen's killer and his own past, of Sara. Of Sara. She wasn't a distraction, although her leaving might have been if they didn't talk at least once a week. He should have been able to focus completely on his job, but there was something niggling just out of his mind's reach that he couldn't quite identify, until he realized it was Elizabeth.

Peter never blamed Neal for James and the maelstrom his presence brought into their lives. Neal didn't think the same was true of Elizabeth, and he wasn't certain that he disagreed. He finally believed that he was not his father's son but he wasn't sure that Elizabeth saw him that way and, for once in his life, he was afraid to ask. The easy friendship they had was missing, and he felt its absence deeply. He didn't drop by the Burkes' unannounced anymore; he made sure to send Peter home from the office when the clock approached six pm. Whenever Peter asked him to come over he bowed out two times out of three, unless Elizabeth was out.

Peter noticed. He talked to El, she said she wasn't angry at Neal, just at James. She regretted being taken in by him and his story and was absolutely certain that she would never forgive him for what he'd put Peter through. Peter saw that she didn't acknowledge the pain James had caused Neal, but didn't push. He'd let her calm down, give her a little more time, then revisit the Elizabeth-Neal problem. He even managed to meet with Mozzie, to get another point of view from someone who was close to both of them.

"Is it weird that I feel I have to play matchmaker for my wife and my partner?" he asked Mozzie.

"Neal's hurt by what happened with James, by what's going on with Elizabeth. He grateful that you don't hold him responsible for his - James - but, you know he has a blind spot you could push an aircraft carrier through when it comes to people he cares for, and he's angry with himself that he didn't see James for what he really was."

"But you did."

"'Trust no one' isn't always a bad way to live, Suit. And he misses Sara, and Ellen, and - Elizabeth."

"Suggestions?"

Mozzie just shook his head and sighed. "Give her time. But not too much. Otherwise this becomes the status quo, and it won't ever get better."

Peter considered two weeks to be enough time to let things work out on their own, otherwise he'd have to step in. To do what he wasn't sure, but to do something, to at least get the issue out in the open (and when did he become such a sensitive guy, he asked himself).

He didn't have to wait that long. Three days later Neal got hit in the chest by a load of buckshot fired from a shotgun by a suspect they were about to meet. Walter Stuart, businessman who was moderately proficient at pyramid schemes and fancied himself a hunter, fired through his office door when his receptionist announced the two gentlemen from the FBI. The door slowed down the shot but added to the shrapnel entering Neal's chest. Peter tackled Stuart a little harder than was necessary as he attempted to run past them, cuffed him a little tighter than he normally would, all the while yelling for someone to call an ambulance. Neal was conscious, though laying flat on his back and taking wheezing breaths as Peter squatted beside him, holding his shoulder with one hand and calling Diana with the other.

Neal's injuries, although painful, could have been so much worse, if Stuart had purchased his shells instead of making them himself and skimping on the quantity of both powder and shot. They were bad enough, though, that he had to be put under general anesthesia while the trauma team dug out dozens of pellets and splinters of wood from Neal's chest and abdomen.

Peter brought Neal to his home instead of Neal's, but only after assuring him that Elizabeth was out of town when Neal told him, in no uncertain terms, that he did not wish to impose on her. Also, Neal was unable to reach Mozzie, and June's housekeeper said something about an unexpected trip. Neal made it as far as the couch before dropping. He let out a sigh and turned to Peter, who sat beside him.

"Helluva day, huh?"

"Helluva day, " Peter agreed. "How are you feeling?"

"Been better, been worse. I'll be fine, it just - burns, more than anything right now." He let out a breath. "Did you get him?"

"Stuart? Yes, we did, and we'll be adding attempted murder to the list of charges."

"Glad I could be useful."

"Neal," Peter said carefully, "when I saw you fly back after you were shot, I was afraid you were dead."

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes.

"Peter, why aren't you angry with me?"

Peter looked at Neal with one eyebrow raised. "For what?"

"I can't speak for when I was in prison, but probably while you were chasing me and certainly since I was released to you I know I've made your life difficult, and I have to wonder. When are you going to just give up?"

"That's the pain and the anesthesia talking, Neal. You're a good man, and you're my friend. Why would I give up?"

"Peter, don't you see? It doesn't matter in the end, I can be a good person, I think I'm becoming one, and you've been so important in getting me there, but it still comes down to my life causing your life nothing but trouble." He looked away.

Peter put his hand on Neal's shoulder. "It does matter. It always matters. That's what family does, and you are family."

"I don't think Elizabeth thinks that anymore, and she's your family far more than I, and that's as it should be." He paused, realizing the events of the day made him say more than he had meant to say. He thought he heard a sound on the other side of the window.

"When did you say she'd be getting back to the city?"

"I don't think I did," Peter said uncomfortably.

"Peter," Neal began, but was hit with a wave of dizziness as he turned his head too quickly. He slid down and let out a couple of deep breaths, clutching Peter's arm with one hand and his side with the other. They heard the front door open and Elizabeth's voice.

"Honey, are you home early?"

Neal whispered angrily to Peter.

"Where's Mozzie, where's June. I don't believe that they both skipped town when they were both here this morning." He sat upright and closed himself off from Peter.

"In here, Hon," Peter replied to Elizabeth. "Neal, please," he said softly, "I didn't know what else to do."

Elizabeth came around the corner and stopped short when she saw Neal on the couch, a hospital gown covering his upper body in place of his usual shirt and jacket, his hair uncombed and his face pale. It was evident that Neal and Peter were having some kind of discussion, and it wasn't going well for either.

"Neal! What happened?" She crossed the space in two steps and sat on the coffee table in front of Neal.

"I'll be out of your hair as soon as Peter's ready to take me home," he replied in as even a voice as he could manage.

"He was shot - buckshot in the chest," Peter answered. "They put him under general at the hospital, and he's not supposed to be alone for twenty-four hours."

"I'm sure I won't be alone at June's."

"Of course you won't be alone, you'll stay here. Why wouldn't you stay here?" Neal's head dropped, and Peter was silent. "Is there a reason?" When neither one answered, she asked quietly, "am I the reason?"

"Hon," Peter started.

Neal put his hand back on Peter's arm to cut off whatever he was going to say.

"It's okay, Elizabeth. I know things are difficult right now, with us, with everything you and Peter have been through for - well, for years now. I understand, really, I just - just - wish that you wouldn't be angry. With me. Everything else, I get it."

She reached forward and tentatively put her hand on his knee.

"I was angry. At James, at you, at the Bureau, at Reese, at Peter, even. But I was wrong, and you were convenient." She took a deep breath. "I don't know how everything got so out of hand." She took his hands in hers. "I'm sorry, Neal. I let my feelings toward James bleed over into everything in my life, especially you. But no matter what, you're my husband's partner and you're our friend. And you were shot today. God, Neal, you were shot today." The tears that had been close to the surface finally rolled down her cheeks as she squeezed his hands.

"It's okay, Elizabeth," Neal replied squeezing hers in return. "I'm fine. And I'm just so sorry about - " he couldn't even use James' name - "about him. In spite of everything I've ever done I don't have a lot of regrets in my life, except calling out to him at the cemetery the day Ellen was buried." He had to stop; the events of earlier in the day were leaving him too raw, his emotions too close to the surface.

Both Peter and Elizabeth understood. Peter put his arm around Neal's shoulders, Elizabeth slid a little closer to the edge of the table and rubbed her thumb across the top of his hand.

"I never told you how truly sorry I am for how things worked out for you. I know none of this was what you wanted or hoped for, none of this was your doing. I'm sorry I shut you out, that I didn't behave better toward you."

His head was down so that all they could see was his hair as he nodded. Peter could feel a slight tremor in Neal's shoulders and pulled him closer in a hug.

"Thank you," he whispered, "thank you both. Peter, I would like to go home, though."

Peter nodded.

"Why don't you take a nap while I get your prescription filled, then I'll take you home when you wake up."

"So, June and Mozzie, back in town?" he asked, looking up with a slight smile. His eyes were clear, if a little red-rimmed.

"Yeah, I think they said something about getting back around - " Peter looked at his watch - "now. Stretch out, I'll be back in a bit." He stood.

Elizabeth rose, too, and said she'd go to the drug store, Peter should stay. She got a blanket and pillow from the closet before she left.

"Sleep well, Neal," she said as she covered him. "I'm glad you're here."

"It's good to be back, Elizabeth," he said, just before he drifted off to sleep.

_Thank you for reading._


End file.
